


Price of Admission

by Pokeydotes



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Irondad, Peter is an Idiot, So is Ned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22365385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: A simple discussion about the future after graduation has Peter realizing he needs new friends.Or MJ and Ned discuss alternative revenue sources and Peter wishes he would die.
Comments: 33
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I place all of the blame on my discord group. They are horrible influences, each and every one of them.

Peter was lying on the floor, feet propped on his bed while he stared up at the ceiling, watching the way the air conditioner made the little cobwebs near the light fixture wobble.

“I’m just saying,” MJ argued, “Scholarships aren’t guaranteed. You need a backup plan or you’re going to be stuck with a lifetime supply of debt in the form of student loans. And everyone knows those are just the government’s version of a Ponzi scheme.”

Ned sighed. “Maybe I could sell a kidney.”

Peter frowned. “Pretty sure you can’t sell a body part, dude. It’s illegal.”

“You can sell sperm,” MJ pointed out. Peter stopped frowning and the ceiling webs suddenly got a lot less interesting. Also, he was fairly certain MJ shouldn’t be allowed to say sperm that casually.

Not that he would tell her that.

“How much do they pay?” Ned asked.

And okay, they were talking about this. Cool.

MJ did a quick google search, quirked an eyebrow, and said, “About seventy bucks a pop.” She then looked at Peter. “How much did you say MIT’s tuition was?”

“Almost fifty thousand a semester.”

“Alright, divide that by seventy,” she typed a little more, “and that’s about 715 trips to the sperm bank.”

Ned shrugged. “Don’t judge, but I think that’s totally doable.”

“That’s just for one semester,” MJ clarified. “And that’s not counting room and board, book costs…all in all you’re talking about almost 2800 times a year.”

Peter tried not to blush when MJ looked down at him again and said, “That’s roughly once a day for seven and a half years or eight times a day every day for a year.”

“Still doable,” Ned whispered.

Peter rolled his eyes and sat up. “Dude, no. It’ll fall off.”

MJ made a little noise that might have been a snort, but she hid it and started clicking on links.

Then May, always punctual with her awkward timing, barged in, purse in one hand, keys in the other.

Peter looked at the computer screen where MJ had googled “sperm bank near me” and quickly slammed the laptop’s lid closed.

May narrowed her eyes. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Nothing,” Peter said with a tightlipped smile.

But not before Ned had time to panic and open his mouth. “…Porn.”

“Dude,” Peter moaned. “That is so much worse.”

May just blinked then turned to MJ. “Do I want to know?”

MJ shrugged. “It has to do with sperm.”

Peter finally understood how people could crave death.

May gave a heavy sigh, pulled her purse onto her shoulder and said, “Whatever. I’m going to the grocery store. You guys enjoy your porn.”

“It’s not porn!” Peter called after her as she turned to leave.

“Still don’t want to know!”

Peter just sighed and collapsed, falling back until his shoulders met the bed. “I hate both of you.”

“No you don’t,” Ned reminded him. “Besides, who else is going to help you figure out how to finance your higher education?”

“So far you’ve come up with selling a kidney and marathon sperm donations.” Peter leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I think I’ll take my chances with student loans at this point.”

“If I had a dick, I’d totally do the sperm thing,” MJ said, somehow keeping a straight face the entire time. She opened the laptop again and resumed clicking.

“Pretty sure we’d all die if we had to jerk off eight times a day for a year.”

“I don’t know,” MJ taunted, “Judging by what I’m seeing in your internet history, you wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

Dear sweet, Death. Come hither.

He snatched his laptop back, focused anywhere that wasn’t MJ’s gleeful smirk, and tucked his computer beneath his bed. “What about blood?” he said, reaching for a topic that somehow didn’t involve his dick. “You can sell that right?”

“Yeah, but that’s limited,” Ned pointed out, and the traitorous bastard was laughing. “You can only donate so much so often.”

MJ, still smirking, pulled her phone out and resumed perusing the internet. “Besides, you can’t sell blood, Peter. You’re a mutant—“

“Not a mutant.”

“--and you already have a hard enough time keeping your blood on the inside as it is. I say you’re better off beating one out every now and then.”

“Don’t worry,” Ned sighed, grabbing the PlayStation controller from the desk. “He’s got that covered. Paid or not.”

“I still hate you both,” Peter reminded them.

“No you don’t.”

MJ pulled up another google search while Ned waited for the video game to load. Peter went back to looking at the little cobwebs on the ceiling.

Senior year was fast approaching. And yeah, he had the grades for scholarships, but so did a lot of other kids.

May did her best, but she did good to keep the rent paid. Which meant, despite Ned’s insistence that he ask Tony to pay for his college, Peter was pretty much on his own.

Well, except for Ned.

And MJ.

And her crazy get rich quick schemes.

“You guys could always sell pictures of your feet.”

“What?” Peter spluttered, leaning in to look over her shoulder so he could see her phone. “What site are you on?!”

“Craigslist,” she said, all nonchalant. “This one guy is willing to pay like fifteen bucks per picture.”

Ned frowned but then looked down at his mismatched socks, flexing his toes unnecessarily as his head tilted to the side, considering.

MJ just turned back to her phone. “I won’t judge you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...What would Tony have to say about it all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly did not expect this story to get this kind of reaction. I also don't know why I'm surprised almost everyone asked "what about Tony? Why isn't he a part of this conversation?"

It was raining, because why not?

Peter leaned his back against the wall, waited until the elevator doors closed, and pulled his mask off. He was soaking wet, cold, and oh so fucking tired.

Then there was the pain, can’t forget that.

“Hey, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Is Tony here?”

“He’s in the kitchen.”

“He alone?”

“Yes, Peter.”

“Sweet.”

“Would you like to go to the med-bay?”

“Nah,” Peter said, shifting his feet and wincing as he accidentally jostled his arm. “Kitchen’s fine.”

“You’re injured,” FRIDAY pointed out, needlessly.

“I’m aware.” He looked down and frowned at the small puddle he was making. “But this isn’t one of those life or death things.” When she remained silent, Peter looked up towards the ceiling, offered a reassuring smile, and added, “Promise, Fri. Just a little banged up.”

“I’m supposed to remind you of what will happen if you were to lie about an injury again.”

“No need, I remember,” Peter assured her. “And for the record, I didn’t lie last time. I just didn’t mention it. Two different things.”

“Boss doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Yeah, well, what does he know?”

“A lot.”

And yeah, Peter couldn’t really argue with her on that one. But he didn’t have to. The elevator finally slowed and the doors opened. Most of the penthouse was dark, but Peter could see light and shadows peeking out from around the corner, could hear the sound of jars rattling as someone sorted through the fridge.

Peter knew it was Tony, FRIDAY had already said so, but Peter still felt himself relax when Tony’s voice echoed around the corner. “You gonna come in or just stand there all night?”

Peter rolled his eyes, tried not to drip on the rug that probably cost more than a month’s rent in Queens, and meandered into the kitchen. Tony was right where Peter pictured he’d be, standing in front of an open fridge, piling sandwich supplies into his arms as he nibbled on a piece of cheese.

Supplies in hand, Tony turned, kicked the fridge door closed, and frowned. “You’re wet.”

“It’s raining,” Peter pointed out, gesturing towards the wall of windows and the very obvious rain that was overtaking Manhattan at the moment. “Wetness is one of those unfortunate side effects.”

Tony didn’t look impressed. He gave Peter a very pointed look, deposited his supplies on the counter, and reached for the bread. “So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Peter shifted on his feet again. “Remember when I accidentally dislocated my shoulder that one time—”

Tony stopped spreading mustard onto a slice of wheat and looked up, frowning. Peter continued.

“—and you warned me that it would probably be easier to do again since it already dislocated once?”

Tony put down the knife and wiped his hands on his shirt as he rounded the counter. “How’d you dislocate it this time?”

“I fell,” Peter explained. Vaguely.

Tony frowned.

“Just…slipped,” Peter continued. Still vague.

More frowning.

Tony tilted his head, somewhat judgingly in Peter’s opinion, furrowed his brow and asked, “Were you trying to take a selfie again?”

“No.” Yes. “Things just get slippery when they’re wet.”

Tony did Peter a favor and didn’t verbally remind him that he stuck to everything, wet or not. Then again, he didn’t have to. Tony’s eyebrows were doing that thing they did when he thought Peter was full of shit.

But still, blessed silence.

Peter let his left shoulder rise and fall in a half-hearted kind of shrug. “So, I figured getting you to reset my shoulder would be easier than googling how to do it myself.”

Tony’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise and the corner of his mouth quirked into a little grin. “You see, this kind of mature, reasonable thinking?” he began, guiding Peter to the dining room table and the nearest chair, “We call that growth.”

Peter rolled his eyes and tried not to flinch as Tony began feeling along the tender joint. “I’ve seen you use a screwdriver, scotch tape, and one of Pepper’s hair ties to make a splint because you didn’t want to stop working and leave the lab for something as trivial as a broken finger.”

“And you once tried to use your webbing as a Band-Aid,” Tony countered.

“It worked though.”

Tony scrunch his nose, always with the judgment. “Still almost bled out.”

“Almost,” Peter echoed. “That’s the word you should focus on.”

“My point is, bad decisions have been made in the past,” Tony said, cradling Peter’s elbow in one hand, bracing the shoulder with the other. “Let’s celebrate that you’re no longer going to Google to figure out how to fix the booboos.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “One time…,” he began, only to stop because Tony Stark was an asshole who didn’t give any warning.

There was a sharp tug and a push and then a _pop_ and then Peter may or may not have doubled over with a “fuck” hissed through clenched teeth.

“You okay?” Tony asked, giving Peter’s good arm a gentle squeeze.

“Sure,” Peter mumbled. He sat up and gave his shoulder a little shrug. “Yeah, that’s loads better. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Tony said with a smile before turning and returning to his sandwich. “Speaking of google…” he began somewhat nonchalantly, eyes focused on the sliced deli meat and definitely not on Peter. “Want to clue me in on why you’re trying to sell your sperm?”

Peter nearly fell out of his chair. “What?”

Tony added a couple slices of cheese to the sandwich then reached for the tomato. “The other day, you googled ‘sperm banks near me’ and I was kinda concerned.”

“You’re monitoring my google searches?” Peter decided it was probably best that he stay sitting.

“Not me,” Tony said, finally looking up and facing Peter. “FRIDAY,” he clarified. “And after the whole ‘siri, how do I treat a stab wound’ incident, yeah, it gets monitored.”

“You see everything I google?”

And Peter’s despair must have shown on his face because Tony stopped piling lettuce onto the tomatoes and held up a calming hand. “Relax. Even I have boundaries,” Tony informed him, which yeah, good to know. “FRIDAY is programmed to alert me of any key words or phrases that might hint at you being in trouble. Then she lets me know.”

“And ‘sperm bank’ is on the list?”

Tony shook his head and stuffed another slice of cheese in his mouth. “No. The whole ‘how to sell a kidney’ thing caught her attention.”

“That was Ned.”

“Which prompted me to look at what other searches you’d just done.”

“Still creepy.”

“And that’s when I saw the sperm thing.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, forced himself out of his chair, and said, “Yeah, that was MJ. She was just on my computer.”

Tony paused in putting the lid back on the pickles and frowned. “Not sure that makes it better.”

Peter shrugged, regretted it, and plopped down on a stool before stealing one of the pickles out of the side of Tony’s sandwich. “We were trying to think of ways to pay for college.”

Tony closed the bread bag and gave Peter a concerned frown. “By selling sperm?”

“We did the math,” Peter admitted. “Apparently it’s doable.”

Tony paused, seemed to think about it, then said, “You’d probably have to learn to be ambidextrous.”

Peter nodded. “That was discussed.”

“These are the types of conversations you have with your girlfriend?” Tony asked, doing that concerned frown thing again, though this time with a hint of judgment.

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Alright. Let’s make a deal.” Tony pushed the plate with the now completed sandwich across the bar and made a pointed gesture for Peter to begin eating. “You keep all radioactive body parts and fluids where they belong, and if the genius IQ doesn’t bag you enough scholarships to cover tuition, I’ll cover the rest. Deal?”

Peter pinched another pickle off from where it was peeking out from beneath the edge of a lettuce leaf, and asked, “You think I could get enough scholarships to cover everything?”

“Stop picking the pickles off and eat the whole thing,” Tony ordered. “And if Spider-Man can take a break from crime fighting long enough to take the SATs, then yes, I have no doubt you could get it all paid for and then some.”

Peter didn’t bother hiding his smile as he finally picked up the sandwich and took a ginormous bite. He quietly chewed while Tony went about preparing another sandwich. He took a few more bites, licked the mustard off his lip, and said, “You don’t have to pay for my education, you know. There are other ways. Work studies, student loans…

Tony shrugged and added another tomato. “Consider it a scholarship for being a Stark Industries intern.”

Peter took another bite and then…

“Are you aware that you can sell pictures of your feet?”

Tony looked up from his cheese and gave Peter a pleading look. “I’m begging you to stop.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't take this fic seriously. I don't.
> 
> It was brought on by the memory of watching my cousin depressingly try to calculate how many times he could donate sperm to pay his tuition. That dream died when he learned sperm banks have a cut off on the number of donations...


End file.
